A storm gathered above the village of Ausus, though no clouds had formed.
In a dim, cramped hut on the hill's edge, a woman screamed through labor pains. Bright purple essence stones floated in the air, pulsing with light—until they dimmed. The warmth of essence vanished, leaving only cold.
The midwives froze. One backed away, whispering prayers under her breath.
"The essence isn't responding," another muttered. "It should have formed by now."
A baby's cry rang out—but it brought no comfort.
The air didn't hum. The stones didn't stir. No glow danced along the newborn's skin. Where there should have been a thrum of power, there was only silence.
A Hollow.
A death sentence.
The elder stepped forward. Her name was Sayra, a woman older than the village itself, robed in worn blue cloth and bearing the scent of dried herbs and dust. Her hand hovered above the child's chest but recoiled.
"Nothing," she said quietly. "No core. No flow. He will not last the night. Best to spare the suffering."
The mother, pale and drenched in sweat, clutched the child close. "No… no. Let me see him."
Sayra hesitated. Her eyes narrowed—not with cruelty, but caution.
The child's skin was cool. His breath shallow. But then—his eyes opened.
Not the cloudy gray of a fading soul, nor the bright blue of an awakened one. No, these were deep violet—dark, almost glowing, like dying starlight.
The essence stones shattered.
A sound like glass breaking in the sky split the air. Outside, lightning clawed silently across the stars, and the heavens rippled as if trying to hold themselves together.
Sayra dropped to her knees.
The other midwives screamed—but the elder raised her hand.
"Say nothing," she whispered, eyes locked on the child. "Not to the village. Not to the Temple. Burn the broken stones. Clean this place."
The younger midwives hesitated. "But Elder—"
Sayra's voice trembled slightly, her authority flickering for the first time. "I don't know what this is. And until I do… no one must."
The mother wept silently, pressing her lips to the baby's forehead.
Sayra stood, heart pounding. She looked once more into the child's violet eyes, now slowly drifting shut.
"No Hollow should open his eyes," she murmured, voice barely audible. "And the sky… shouldn't bleed."